when the time comes...

when the time comes just walk away quietly and don't make a fuss...

winter love

after 5 days of 20ft-30ft seas, 50mph winds. lightening, rain, thunder...

i woke today to a friend calling with reports of 8ft waves, offshore winds, lines.....

crawled out of bed and looked out the bedroom window to see peeling lines and offshore

silver spray.

2 hours of great waves, 4 people out (+ 3 sea lions, one actually catching waves)

home to a warm bed, down comforter, veggie burrito coma, hot tea, a good novel, a 3 hour nap...

woke to the same friend calling me back for another session just before dark. perfect day.

to a god unknown

i found this cross on the beach today. someone had clearly put some effort into making it, lashing the two pieces together with twine, and whittling the bottom of it so that it could be stuck into the earth. i think the ocean unleashed it, who knows where from, and washed it up to greet me amidst an awe-inspiring storm. something to make the gods stop and think...

i climbed up on a cliff, found a spot for the cross, overlooking the ocean, hoping that this new view will be worthy of whomever it was intended for. blessings to all who live and die here, this powerful place we call home.

the driftwood shack enthusiast

Known in Lost Creek as the "Solstice" style of architecture, this first example of a driftwood shack demonstrates how careful construction can create both a wind block as well as a back rest for beach dwellers. By building a fire in the lee of the shack, the inhabitants can relax, drink beer and watch a sunset without sand or smoke getting in their eyes. Scientists are still unsure if the skill of driftwood shack construction is an acquired trait, or an inherited one. There is evidence that this skill is passed on in gene # dv-0956237-r, although recent genetic tests have shown that this gene may simply predispose humans to build shacks, rather than impart them with the skill to do so.

Observation of young humans with their parents along the north coast of Oregon reveals that the ability to stack logs on the sand may be a learned trait.


Here we see an example of log-towel construction, a style unique to coastal areas that have been deprived of heavy storms and heavy drift log accumulation. Again, blocking the north wind is key in this style of construction, but, unlike drift shacks found in Oregon, this Bolinas California shack has the primary intention of blocking the sun so that the pasty white Northern California inhabitants do not get sunburned. You can see that several of the inhabitants have decided to brave the sun despite government warnings of ultra-violet radiation.

One of the foremost architectural features of driftwood shacks in the North Pacific is their purposeful use of found logs to block wind. Summer shacks are constructed to block the prevailing north winds, created as high pressure systems move into the coastal waters of the west coast of North America. In this example, the residents have made themselves comfortable in a modest dwelling using a basic log-stacking technique to construct their shelter.

Please note the use of sticks and dried kelp as decorative features along the north wall. Even modest shelters will show signs of the inhabitants' taste and style. Also take note of the purple chenille throw, carefully placed on the sand to prevent ass-crack sand accumulation by naked residents of this particular structure. Scientists are perplexed by chenille and its use in the coastal setting.

IF FOUND: PLEASE RETURN

"I live in the driftwood, a true local. I will eat anyone who comes from anywhere but here.... I eat people like you for breakfast....

If you don't live in the sand like a crab, collect shellfish, bathe in salt, breathe water and dress in kelp, i will never know you. I am a true local-- I will localize you; smash your sand castle and drink your last beer. I will make pajamas out of your favorite board sock. Don't mess with me!"

Rawwwr!!!!


attention all beach wanderers: big, mean, scary surf girl on the loose! look out. if you see this person, please give her some clothes, a razor to shave her legs, some sunscreen, a bra, some table manners, some etiquette. she is out of control, alienating her brothers and sisters, pissing off surfers from all walks of life...

what happened?? she used to be so NICE! so predictably peaceful and loving. and now, look at her! she's lost her way, discriminating against surfers based on where they live and how they treat one another in the water.

please, please, bring this girl home. she needs her sleep, her love, her vegetables, her egyptian 600-thread-count sheets....

IF FOUND: PLEASE RETURN

bon voyage

october: delivering.

day, after day, after day.

my arms are sore,

my face is sunburned,

my spring suit is back in the rotation, currently drying on the fence

from a 2 hour sunset surf

in balmy water.

the usual suspects are here to stay:

pods of sea lions,

myths of 18 foot sharks roaming neaby jetties,

rare sightings of valley kooks

plying 8 to 10 foot swells with soggy arms

eager aggression, completely out-of-place

(now that the ocean is showing real power)

funny, last night, a proto-typical male, 20-something,

short white surfboard with 3 fins,

all of the obvious markings

chest lifted (just high enough) off of his board to prove

that he surfs infrequently... arms, ineffective as paddles, pawing at water--

clearly, this male human was struggling with the intense inner sand bar beating

that makes and breaks days like these...

he arrives at my peak, finally, wobbly, uncertain.

this wave i love, a shifty right with a small takeoff zone

takes its own prisoners, has no mercy on this particular day

and of course, there is no room for error: things are moving fast and heavy, lots of water

but, alas a wave comes and i am in position, deep, just deep enough and my

new valley friend is sitting to my right, so i take off and call him off the wave as he starts to

flail in the direction of the shoulder...

he proceeds to purposefully drop in on me, then wave me on,

"bring it!" he waved at me... and all the while i am thinking,

"i would love to send this 30 pound single fin volan log your way, my friend, at your face, or

how i would love to send it right at your made-in-taiwan predictably

unoriginal foam and epoxy floatation device..."

but instead, i get my waves, sit back, laugh with friends in the line up and watch as

he sulks, then paddles deeper than me, to a totally unmakeable spot...

... a spot where he takes beating after beating, going over the falls, getting axed by

heavy lips of cold water... a spot that only a foreigner would mistake as a possibility.

perfect karma. i am happy. i get my overhead walls, steep and fast, crouched on the nose waiting for all hell to break loose as the velocity of all this water catches up with the inside

sand bar, all energy hitting the breaks as water flies overhead...

engulfed, swallowed, spit out. i go back for more, laughing, smiling. i am home.

this is my wave. i surf it every day. how dare you drop in on someone here?

bring it, is what he said to me... interesting.

sit on the peaks,

channel the karma.

hey sailor

water color by Nellyda Anslow

nothing binds you to land,

vast ocean wanderer.

[what wakes you at night,

invading your dreams

of the sea?

what sorrow awaits you

in your waking hours on land?

what burdens of man

drag your depths?]

beware the jetty

the breakers in the mouth

the small window.

go when you go.

stay as you stay.

abide the alarms, the beacons

the broadcast, the net.

fill your hold with silver

then heavy

come home.